Switch
by chaosattractor
Summary: One-shot written around the premise of Mello and Matt switching wardrobes. Light-hearted and humorous, but with some serious content as well.


Matt stuck his head into the living room and frowned. Mello was still in the same position he had adopted hours ago: sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the laptop before him. He had barely moved since sitting down, not even to use the track pad. He typed occasionally, in short, rapid-fire bursts that were forceful enough to make them audible from the bedroom, but for the most part he had just been sitting there. Matt didn't know what he was watching so intently, or if he was watching anything at all. For all he knew, Mello was just lost in thought.

This was par for the course for the past few days. Mello had been walking around like a zombie, zoning out with a thousand-yard stare on his face, picking at his meals, and abandoning chocolate bars halfway through. He hadn't been ignoring Matt, precisely, but he had been responding to most of his attempts to start conversations with distracted monosyllables. Mello had woken him for wordless quickies each night, but there hadn't even been any sex beyond that. As Mello was usually borderline insatiable, this represented a serious break from the norm.

But those things, distressing as they were, could conceivably be explained away as an unusually strong expression of Mello's usual moodiness. The thing that had Matt truly worried was that Mello hadn't put on a single scrap of black leather in three days.

It was quite out of character. Mello _always _dressed up in full leathers, even if he was going to do nothing but sit in front of the laptop all day. He got dressed just to strut around the apartment feeling self-important, put on his feather boa just to look at himself in the mirror. The only time Mello wasn't dressed to a tee was when he was very deliberately _un_dressed. Matt hadn't quite worked out the details, but he was certain that those clothes were more than just a fashion statement to Mello. He acted different when he was in them, more confident, more decisive. It had been apparent ever since the day that he had gone with Mello to pick up his replacement leather wardrobe after the explosion. At that point, Mello had been in a funk ever since he realized he was going to be permanently scarred, but he had snapped out of it the moment he put on that shiny new red leather jacket. In an instant, he had transformed from the morose, depressed, irritable stranger Matt had been sharing space with back into the Mello of his memories. Those clothes were, in some unfathomable way, a part of Mello himself.

Yet for the past three days, he had been lounging around the apartment in t-shirts he had dug out of the back of Matt's closet and a pair of gray workout pants. Today his shirt had a 1up mushroom on it and it was bright green. It was the sheer incongruousness of that color on Mello that had finally penetrated Matt's typical obliviousness on all things fashion-related. Something was very, very wrong, and he had no idea what it was.

Matt's face hurt. He realized belatedly that this was because he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. He expelled his breath slowly through his teeth in irritation as he realized just how much Mello was getting to him. It was impossible to ignore him when he was acting like this; he contrived to make his stormy silence so loud that Matt couldn't even concentrate on video games.

Finally bowing to the inevitable, Matt approached Mello and stilled in front of him. Mello didn't react to his presence, just kept staring at the screen. After a long moment, Matt spoke. "Hey."

"Hey," replied Mello after a few seconds.

"How's it going?" The question felt horrendously awkward, but Matt didn't know what else to say as an opener.

"Fine."

"You, uh…you want some lunch?" As soon as he finished speaking, Matt remembered that it was actually almost five in the afternoon. It only felt like lunchtime because he had slept until past one. "Dinner?" he amended quickly. "I could order pizza."

"Nnh," said Mello distantly. "Not hungry."

"Right." Matt stood there for several long, uncomfortable seconds, at a loss for how to respond. Then he took another step forward and blurted, "Hey. Don't you want to get dressed?"

This time Mello's eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to the laptop screen. "I'm already dressed," he said, pointing at his clothing with one finger.

"No. I mean, don't you want to get dressed as Mello?" Matt persisted.

Mello gave him a withering look. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he spat. Then he was absorbed in the computer again.

Matt glared. "Fine," he snapped. "Have it your way." He turned and stalked into the hallway. Then a thought occurred to him, and he called back over his shoulder, "But if you don't, then I will!"

No response was forthcoming, so Matt strode into the bedroom and yanked open Mello's pants drawer. There they were, a dozen shiny leather garments, each more scandalous than the next. Matt rifled through them and pulled out the one that he was pretty sure he saw Mello in most often. They had lace-up ties at the crotch and crosses emblazoned over both knees.

Matt hesitated. There was a moment of unreality as he asked himself if he was _really _going to go through with this. But he had already said he would; to change his mind now would be to back down. He slid out of his jeans and stepped into the leather pants.

He had to shimmy to get them up to his thighs, but his first real trouble hit when he realized that there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to cram his boxers into them. Close on the heels of that, it dawned on him that even his smallest pair of tighty whities wasn't going to cut it. That gave him pause. For the first time, he appreciated that Mello's preference for tiny string thongs and the like might have a practical purpose behind it. He chewed at a fingernail nervously. What was he going to do? Put on a pair of Mello's underwear? Put on Mello's pants with no underwear? Either prospect seemed uncomfortable, but he decided to go with option A on the basis that Mello had voluntarily put too many of his own body parts in contact with Matt's ass to reasonably get bent out of shape that a piece of his clothing had gone the same route.

It took him more shimmying and the investment of a few minutes' time to figure out how to get his junk contained within the thong. Then he made the mistake of looking at himself in the door mirror, and had to crouch on the ground hugging his knees until he stopped blushing. He looked anywhere but at the mirror while he straightened and finished pulling up the pants. There were some uncomfortable moments while lacing them; his pubes were a serious problem. He marveled as he recalled all of the times he'd seen Mello do this in mere seconds. Then it was time to pick a shirt. He grabbed one of the vests in the closet at random and wriggled into it. He had to suck his stomach in all the way to get the zipper started.

Finally he was dressed. He whistled quietly to himself at the way the clothing pulled tight against his skin. Mello was pretty much the same size as he was, and he could barely breathe right now. He had never appreciated how much effort it must take to wear these clothes all the time; he felt like he was in a full-body condom. He sniggered. No wonder Mello acted differently when he was dressed. You couldn't forget for an instant that you were wearing _these _particular clothes.

He turned to contemplate himself in the mirror, and pursed his lips, nonplussed. He had a hefty chunk of treasure trail showing, but there was nothing he could do about that. He wasn't about to go getting rid of body hair the way Mello did. He would just have to do as-is.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Then he turned and swept out of the room, affecting his most imperious manner.

His efforts were met with disappointment. Mello didn't even look up from the laptop when he strode into the room. Matt stayed there, hoping to be noticed, but quickly started feeling like an idiot and stalked into the kitchen instead.

He realized after the first few steps that despite his anger, he was carefully keeping his feet from stomping loudly enough for Mello to hear it. He paused. He always did that; it was just habit. But Mello never did, and he was supposed to be Mello, wasn't he?

He resumed walking, this time stamping his feet loudly on the tile. He jerked open the refrigerator door with enough force to make the condiment bottles rattle and grabbed a chocolate bar out of Mello's drawer. Then he slammed the fridge shut again.

_That _got a response. "What the hell are you doing?" came Mello's voice from the living room.

Matt stormed back in, pulling the wrapper partially off of the chocolate bar and tossing it aside. "I told you. I'm being Mello," he snapped. He took a giant bite of the chocolate bar and spoke around it thickly. "Weren't you listening?"

Mello froze when his eyes landed on Matt, who suddenly found himself hard-pressed not to laugh out loud as he watched Mello's expression move with almost comical intensity from shock to consternation to anger. Then his eyes landed on Matt's midsection and he dissolved into a fit of laughter. Matt felt thoroughly ridiculous, but he was determined to take it like a man. Getting Mello to laugh meant success, after all.

"Wow," said Mello finally, wiping away tears of mirth. "This is special. Really special." He eyed Matt for another long moment. "Not bad, though. Leather does good things for you. Turn around." He made a spinning gesture with one finger.

Matt almost did it, but caught himself just in time. "Like hell I will. I'm _Mello. _You don't tell me what to do!" He licked the chocolate bar with deliberate slowness while simultaneously giving Mello his best haughty glare.

Mello regarded him with amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't look anything like that."

"The hell you don't," retorted Matt, raising his eyebrows.

"Huh. All these years we've known each other and _that's _the best you can do?"

Mello wouldn't have hesitated. He would have moved lightning quick. Matt knew it, knew exactly what he would have done after living with him all this time, but it was still somehow very difficult to put it into action. He had to take a few deep breaths before he could move.

But then move he did. He strode across the room, tossing the half-eaten chocolate bar on the table as he passed, and slammed his hands down on the back of the couch on either side of Mello, forcing the blonde to sit back in surprise. He caught Mello's eyes with his most intense gaze and did what he hoped was a fair imitation of Mello's signature half-smirk as he climbed into his lap, kneeing the laptop out of the way in the process. "Are you _really,_" he began, grabbing a handful of blonde hair and forcing Mello to tilt his head back and look up at him. "Going to tell me that I'm doing a bad job?"

Silence reigned while Mello stared up at him, wide-eyed and openmouthed, and Matt concentrated all of his willpower on not breaking eye contact. Finally Mello relaxed beneath him and cocked his head to stare at him through half-lidded eyes. "All right. That was not half bad, I'll give you that. I didn't know you could do that." Then he pushed at Matt's chest until he moved and jumped up. "If you're going to be Mello, I'm going to be Matt." He vanished down the hallway.

Matt stared in stunned silence at the place where Mello had been. "I didn't know I could do that either," he muttered. He hadn't expected that to work out the way it had. He had expected Mello to laugh at him, then demand his clothes back in order to show him how Mello was _really _done. That he had actually pulled off his Mello impression was a surprising turn of events.

A huge grin slowly appeared on Matt's face. He was ridiculously proud of himself for that, even though he got the distinct impression that Mello had backed down more on a whim than anything else, and he could have just as easily started a brawl. It had been strangely liberating, actually. Matt sat back on the couch to wait for Mello, contemplating what life would be like if he permitted himself to cut loose anywhere, anytime, the way his lover did.

He was so busy picturing peoples' reactions if he were to lose his temper and begin shouting at Mello in the middle of a restaurant – a situation they had been in, roles reversed, on more than one occasion – that it took him awhile to realize that Mello hadn't emerged from the bedroom. It had been more than long enough for him to change clothes. He called down the hallway, "Mello?"

No response. Matt rose with a slight frown and padded down the hall, then stuck his head into the room. "Mello?"

He found Mello sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest and ankles crossed. He was wearing Matt's favorite black-and-white striped shirt, but seemed to have gotten distracted before completing the ensemble as he wasn't wearing any pants, just his own black bikini underwear. He held a lit cigarette in one hand. When Matt appeared in the doorway, he looked up at him through his lashes, his expression soft, almost demure.

Matt stilled as a wave of déjà vu washed over him. Katie used to walk around the apartment wearing his stripes. Having Mello suddenly remind him of his ex-girlfriend was…disconcerting, to say the least. Mello didn't talk and didn't move except to bring the cigarette to his lips. He just kept looking at Matt, his expression neutral but somehow vulnerable. Matt felt a stab of intense sorrow, knowing that whatever was going on inside of Mello was a thousand times worse than what showed on the surface.

He was shaken back into the present when he realized that Mello was smoking the cigarette smoothly, without a single cough. He stepped inside of the room and pointed at it. "I didn't realize _you_ could do _that_." It seemed like just last week that he had been trying to teach a frustrated and impatient Mello how to light his own cigarettes.

Mello gave him a ghost of a smile as he expelled smoke between his lips. "Too many after-sex cigarettes with you, I guess," he said with a shrug.

"Apparently." Matt sniggered. "And good for you. I was starting to think this was something that you weren't bright enough to learn."

Mello actually stuck his tongue out at him. "Bastard." But there was neither playfulness nor rancor behind his words. He just sounded listless.

Matt crossed the room and sat next to him on the bed, wincing as the change in position made the already-snug leather pants tighten further. He put one arm around Mello's shoulders, his touch hesitant at first, but when the blonde responded by leaning against him, he pulled him in firmly with both arms. Mello rested his cheek against his shoulder, and Matt kissed the top of his head when it came within reach. He ran his fingers through Mello's hair a few times, then just sat there and held him. A long time passed before he finally spoke.

"What?" he murmured into the fine strands of Mello's hair.

Mello remained silent for almost a full minute before he answered. "It's lent, you know."

Matt's heart sank. He hated it when Mello got twisted up over something religious. He never had any idea how to handle it; he was completely at sea when it came to Mello's religion. He hadn't even noticed that lent had begun. He was pretty sure it ended at Easter, but he didn't know when that was, either. All he knew for sure was that people were supposed to give something up during lent. It occurred to Matt that perhaps he should have learned something about Catholicism, even though it was very much not his thing. It would help him understand Mello better, and then maybe in these situations he wouldn't be so useless. That this thought had never crossed his mind before made him feel like a bad boyfriend.

He spent a few seconds trying to imagine how lent might be connected to Mello's current mood, but came up empty. "So, uh…did you give something up this year?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yes!" Mello's sudden shout made Matt jump. "I've given up _everything_!"

It all fell into place then, and Matt understood. Until a few months ago, Mello had been with the Mafia. He had been living the good life: getting chauffeured from place to place in limos, eating at the city's finest restaurants daily, partying with celebrities, surrounded on all sides by life's richest material things. He had had hundreds, if not _thousands_ of men under his control, ready to drop everything in order to satisfy his merest whims. His information network had spanned every major city in the country and many outside of it, and Matt was pretty sure that his power had extended even into the government. Matt might not know the details, but he knew that while in the Mafia, Mello had been on top of the world.

And now? Now he was living in a dingy, poorly-maintained one-bedroom apartment, subsisting on pizza and delivery Chinese, with only Matt to order around. His web of underlings had all but evaporated when Kira initiated his mass execution of gangsters, and Mello had lost his physical beauty on the very same day. From the pinnacle of success, Mello had been reduced to sitting in front of a laptop, painstakingly combing for clues on the internet while watching a complete bimbo wax on at length about this season's shades of lip gloss.

Despite the somber mood, Matt had to suppress an amused snort. Only Mello could go into a religious fit at finding himself living a life relatively free of excess on the holiday during which one was supposed to give up excesses.

Matt closed his eyes. He wanted to offer something reassuring, but what could he say? Everything was genuinely worse for Mello than it had been in the past. The blonde was right to hate it.

Then Matt's running tally of everything that had changed in Mello's life turned up something that wasn't negative. Mello now had _him,_ didn't he? That had to be worth _something_. At the very least, it gave Matt an idea of how to distract Mello from his wallowing.

"Not everything," he said softly. He pressed his face down next to Mello's so that he could kiss his cheek, then his neck. "Not everything," he repeated against Mello's ear, flicking his tongue out to tease the lobe.

"Hn," snorted Mello. It wasn't a positive response, but it wasn't a negative one, either.

Matt pushed his luck and slid one hand down to reach inside of the striped shirt and caress Mello's side. This _had _to work. Mello almost never turned down sex; if he did so now, it would mean that this was much worse than Matt had realized. "Come on," he said. "I bet that between the two of us, we can manage enough sinful acts to see that you don't inadvertently turn into a good Catholic this year, don't you think?"

Finally, the tension drained out of Mello's body and he leaned into Matt's touch. He laughed, and Matt's heart leapt. "Is that so?" Mello said archly.

"Mmhm," replied Matt, reaching higher to brush his thumb across one nipple. "I have a few in mind right now, in fact."

"And what are those?" Mello asked, his tone rich with amusement.

"I'll show you, shall I?" Matt turned Mello's face to him for a kiss on the lips, but paused before he went any further. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked, catching Mello's eyes.

Mello nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said with a slight smile. "I am."

"Good," said Matt. "Because if I wear these pants any longer, I'm never having kids." He was getting turned on, and that was taking the tight leather situation into a truly dangerous zone. He jumped up and started stripping while Mello smirked.

Then Mello started. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Almost forgot. I have to be Matt." He glanced down at himself and feigned surprise. "Shit! I don't have pants on! I'm _so _embarrassed!" He scrambled under the covers and pulled them into a tight cocoon around himself from the waist down. "Turn off the lights before we do it!"

Matt stared at him in disbelief. "Oh come _on._ I'm not _that _shy!"

"Sure you're not," retorted Mello. "Oh, by the way. I think that right now, just as we're about to get in bed together, would be a great time to tell you about the hot girl I saw at the gas station today. Did I tell you about her yet? She was hot. She had _great _tits. They were like _this big-_"

He broke off when Matt, now naked, jumped onto the bed and shoved at his hands to stop the gestures he was making. "I do _not _talk about girls when I'm in bed with you!" he exclaimed. As he was speaking, Mello leaned over the far side of the bed and retrieved Matt's DS, which he promptly flipped open and pretended to play. "I am way more tactful than that." Then Matt snickered. "By the way, you weren't even half convincing just now, you complete queer. Hearing you talk about tits is like stepping into the Twilight Zone. You have to…"

He trailed off when he realized that Mello wasn't responding to him at all. He frowned. "Mel?"

"Beep beep beep. Wait, what? Did you say something? I was playing my game and didn't hear you. Don't bother to repeat it, because I won't hear you the second time, either."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Ha ha," he said. "Very funny. Yes, I get absorbed in my games sometimes." Mello didn't react. When the seconds stretched and he still didn't move, Matt frowned. "Okay. You've made your point." Still no response. Matt pushed on Mello's shoulder in irritation, shoving the blonde halfway over.

"Hey! Get off!" exclaimed Mello, suddenly completely reanimated. "I'm in a boss battle and you're ruining everything! Go away and leave me alone, I like video games better than sex!"

Exasperated, Matt finally leaned forward and snatched the DS out of his hands. "For fuck's sake, Mello, enough is enough!"

Mello collapsed backwards on the bed, howling with laughter. "Do you feel my pain yet?" he demanded. "You are never, ever, _ever_ allowed to pitch a fit when I take a video game out of your hands again!"

Matt blinked in chagrin as he realized that he had, indeed, let Mello induce him into the exact same behavior that he always got angry at Mello for. He hadn't realized that he was _that _frustrating to deal with. This may have begun as a simple ruse to get Mello to snap out of his bad mood, but Matt realized with a start that he may have actually gained a better understanding of Mello through it.

But as long as he was playing Mello's role, there was no need to take responsibility for _anything. _"You shut the fuck up," he told Mello with a grin as he leaned over him and pressed him into the mattress. "I'm Mello, so I don't have to be reasonable. Also, I'm going to force you to be on the bottom and there's not a god-damned thing you can do about it."

"Matty!" Mello's eyes flew wide with affront. "That's so untrue! I would _never_ take the Lord's name in vain in bed!"

Matt paused. "I'm going to force you to be on the bottom and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it?" he hazarded.

Mello smirked. "Better."

"Right then." Matt straddled Mello's hips and leaned close over his face. "Prepare yourself."

"Yes sir," answered Mello. Then their lips met, and there were no more words for quite some time.


End file.
